#wrote this w one hand

[serqphites]

victoria strapping u down victoria making u bounce on her dick victoria dominating u blah blah blah, i js wanna make herrr feel good yk??

18+, mdni, this is lazy idc im js horny, not proofread, fingering (v! receiving), oral (v! receiving)

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

thinking so hard abt vicky after a long day, js needing some sweet relief from her girl. ur face being mushed up between her thighs w two fingers deep in her sloppy cunt, needy grunts falling from ur lips as u take her to heaven n back.

“mmm- s’good” you manage to slur out, hesitantly removing your mouth from her engorged clit for just a second before driving straight (gay) back in.

hips rocking against ur movements, her hands in ur hair, victoria is simply at a loss for words. all of her sorry attempts at sentences die in the back of her throat, being replaced by desperate whines as she yearns for that sweet sweet relief.

she doesn’t even need to say anything to u tho, u already know what she’s trying to warn u abt. nodding against her pussy, u remove ur fingers and earn urself a yelp that is soon followed by an almost cry from vicky. u lock eyes, her head springing up to look down at u w those puppy dog pleasedestroymyinsides eyes. “s’alright, i know. in my mouth ‘kay?” dumbing down ur sentence out of pure greed, u barely give victoria time to take in ur words before ur slipping ur tongue into her needy cunt. she cries out once more, tears pricking at her eyes as her hand flies to grasp onto ur bedsheets.

a spew of curses and an almost leg cramp later, n victoria has given u exactly what u asked for. her cum flows into ur mouth like a refreshing drink on a scolding summer day, sating any and all needs either of u had. u don’t waste a single second of her, taking in as much as possible before going back up for seconds n licking her sensitive pussy clean. she’s a mess above u, breathing uneven n laboured.

u crawl up her body, peppering kisses along the way before plopping down on her heaving chest. “you’re- i-” she can’t even put into words what u js did to her. and best believe ur being punished later for giggling at her stuttering.

·········⋆༺𓆩❀𓆪༻⋆·········

[tojisun]

!! bimbo f!reader; daddy kink; john’s pov // shiu’s version // dividers by @/plutism <33

john loves you so much; he loves spoiling you lots.

you're a sight for sore eyes, round and sweet, but that's not what only gets him going—you're kind to a fault, looking up at him all starry-eyed like he's not a bad man. like he's not broken and angry, and all mangled from within until it has him toying with people's moralities.

you curl in his arms, so giggly and bright, almost like you're unknowing of what he does, of what he's capable of, but you've always known better than anyone else. after all, john trusts no one more than he trusts you.

you are so, so lovely; stoking his desires, filling him up with this miasmic need that burns from within. he aches every time, so desperate to feel you. to touch you. to have one more taste because you've turned john insatiable, his hunger constant, burrowing deep in the yawning of his stomach.

he wants more from you. he will always want more.

.

"daddy?" you call, pattering out of your room with a little pout. john's quick to drop the call, not bothering to say any goodbyes to ghost, and turns all of his attention to you.

he gulps, feeling himself chub up underneath his slacks. you've got your neon green tube top on, the fabric taut as it clings to your skin. there's a little slip of cut by the front of it, and all that's keeping the fabric twined together are the little straps that converge into an 'X', framing your pretty tits in a way that has his throat constricting, his thirst palpable as it rolls off him in waves.

you don't notice of course, eyes turned to the baby blue slip of a dress you're carrying.

"hi, sweet'art," he croaks out, pulling your attention back to him, almost pleading.

you look up, blinking like you've forgotten he was there or that you were even asking for him, before a smile dances on your lips, tugging that kissable pout away.

"john!" you say, giddy, bouncing in your place and it—

jesus, it makes your tits wobble, your tight tube top not really doing anything to hide the fact that you don't got a bra on.

you tryna kill him or somethin', doll?

"c'mere," he grunts, patting at his lap.

you fall on top of him with a squeal, all your tender parts dimpling as you nuzzle close, humming in delight when john brushes his lips on your forehead. he adjusts himself on the seat, arm curling around your waist, tugging you impossibly closer.

"so what's got you into a tizzy?" john asks, rubbing his hand atop your belly, his cock chubbing up even more at the softness of your pudge.

"oh," you murmur, breathless, your eyes tracking his caresses. "was jus' wonderin' if i should wear this top or the blue dress, s'all."

"yeah?" john begins peppering kisses along the shell of your ear, huffing when you squeak, body jolting at the ticklish feeling that his stubble makes. "and y'wanted daddy's thoughts, s'that it?"

"mhmm." you sound distant. distracted.

john trembles, just as dizzy with his need. he wonders if he can coax you out of that outing you were planning with your friends. he wonders if he can ask you to stay because there's something else he'd rather do than talk to his mates.

(maybe he'll have you kiss his cock and have you smear that lipgloss all over the leaking slit; or have you sit on his face since it's been a while since he's got a taste, and john is parched.

or maybe he'll have you ride him, give him a view of those pretty tits bouncing, your nipples hard and in need of being sucked on. maybe he'll make a mess out of that top, yeah? lick you through it, watch it go damp and see-through, until the green of your top is muddled with the colour of your areolas.

or maybe he'll breed you, huh darlin'? you'd want that, wouldn't you? have him fulfill his promises—make a mom out of you?)

"well, baby," john begins, his voice gruff as he pulls himself out of his imaginations. he kisses the slope of your neck, and breathes in the smell of your body wash. "i do love that green top better—shows more of y'r girls, doesn't it?"

you giggle, almost a touch shy, before nodding. john's heart swells, the aching need in the pit of his stomach peaking, bloating. he can't help himself—his darling love is warm on top of him, beautiful and soft. a lesser man would've crumbled faster; pawing at your body, hand rough as it fondles your tit—

really, john deserves a goddamn award for how saintly he's acting; holding back like he's not leaking in his boxers.

but he remembers how excited you've been about this night out and jobn would rather fuck his fist than ever be the cause of your disappointment, so he takes a ragged breath in, leashing his desires back in the pit of his stomach, weaving it beneath his blood, and taps your hip to send you off.

you climb out of his lap with a huff before you twirl, bending forward and planting a sloppy kiss on his lip. you leave them sticky, marked by your lipgloss.

"see you later, daddy," you trill, waving, before you run back to the room. john can only grunt, unable to trust his weakened voice.

.

driven by his deprivation, john fishes a lingerie out of your hamper and pockets it. he'll need it for later—the night is young.

[seefasterdraws]

from the homumiko mines

[poppy-metal]

sighhhhhh <3 patrick being you and tashi’s very willing and eager sperm donor. tashi gives him free reign, for the most part, to do whatever he wants, as long as he spills every drop of cum deep into your cunt where it belongs. and she’s not just going to leave you alone— she’s going to take care of her girl, fuck his cum back inside of you whenever it starts dripping out. it gives patrick time to get hard again before he pumps you full of his cum. tashi makes him keep going and going until he’s shooting blanks.

and really, what are the odds it takes that first time? she tells patrick to keep his phone nearby when you’re ovulating again, would probably even add it to a fucking google calendar. she tracks your fertile days, calls patrick to ‘come over and do his fucking job.’ he’s happy to help out, just being a good friend <3

stop because she's so professional about it - almost clinical. once it's decided she's tracking your periods, she already tracked them before - just to know when you'd need certain provisions. - but she's tracking when you're ovulating - has a calendar for it and everything with the date circled in red marker. the day where you'll be most fertile.

something about it shames and turns you on in the same breath - the brazen display of something so lewd in such a mundane fashion. when tashi's friend is over- and she sees the date circled she of course asks what it means and while your face flames furiously your wife just calmly sips her coffee. "we're trying for a baby."

and of course, of course her friend thinks it means a clinical insemination - tashi doesn't bother to correct her and you're glad, you think you'd die if she explained that no, they were doing a more hands on approach - per your want. its not that you'd asked to get knocked up, but tashi had such a way about her, a way of knowing you - it wasn't hard to figure out you didn't just want to carry a baby, you wanted to experience the act of lovemaking itself - babymaking - such a sweet traditional girl, you were. tashi didn't fault you for it. and you got whatever you wanted, if it was in her power to grant it to you.

you just hadn't expected - patrick. you trusted her - you loved her - but patrick was - he was so - intense. you had to admit he scared you a little, though you did you best to be outwardly polite to him, as one of tashi's closest friends. but tashi reassured you he was the best choice. he wouldn't want to be overly involved in the babies life like art would, who was the other option. he wouldn't fight them for custody or change his mind or anything like that.

and, tashi had added with a smirk, she thought he'd be more your type. you were attracted to tashi for her dominance and strong fiery personality after all. her and patrick shared that - in and out of the bedroom. she knew you'd have a good time. because it was important you have a good time on top of getting pregnant.

well, that was that.

except it wasn't just that. except it was alot more than that. because you came home one day and there patrick was - on your couch - the nice plush one - his legs spread - arms behind him on either side of the couch - the complete picture of male lackadaisical confidence. right at home.

tashi was on a chair across from him, and when she saw you she pointed to the empty spot next to patrick - though there wasn't alot of space.

"stop manspreading and move your ass." she told him when you approached hesitantly. patrick allowed his legs to close a little, making room for you, but he didn't take his arms from the back of the couch. and he looked at you as if to say 'well?' when you just stared at him.

"sit." tashi said and you sat.

immediately the warmth emanating from patrick washed over you. how did he run so hot? he was like a goddamn werewolf. you were hyperaware of his arm just behind you. knew that if you leaned back just a little your head would brush his forearm. you sat stiffly. hands in your lap.

"whats this about.....?" you asked tashi. the date wasn't until two weeks. you hadn't expected to see patrick until then. you wondered if he knew already, or if tashi was planning on telling him now, with you here.

you felt more than heard patrick shift next to you. his knees knocked against yours. he was wearing jeans - and you were in a dreas - the fabric was rough as it tapped your bare skin.

"i think you know." he sounded amused.

so he knew then.

"dont tease her." tashi said. she had a notebook open on her lap, loose papers already in it. she was holding a pen that she uncapped. "we spoke about it a few days ago over brunch. but this -" and she pointed at you with the pen. "- is why we're having this conversation now." she waved the pen between you and patrick.

you drew your knee back from patricks. swallowed.

"a- and the conversation is?"

patrick leaned forward, elbows on his knees. he was so tall and big he invaded your line of sight - "you want my dick inside you and you can't even look at me, doll."

the crude statement made heat shoot through your body. your lips parted and you just kinda blinked at him in shock. your palms started to sweat and at the work dick your cunt throbbed once, unbidden.

"that part." tashi confirmed.

"but i -" you started. "um. i didn't think - i mean. its just. its just to get me pregnant.... "

tashi hummed. "yes. but I don't think you're taking into account its not just about that." she wrote something down in her notebook. the sound of pen on paper was deliberate and sharp. "your pleasure, for one, is paramount. dont look at me like that - you're getting fucked, baby. you're going to enjoy it."

you realized she was making a list. she turned it around to face you and patrick after she finished with it.

"i figure we should talk about what each of us wants from the experience - kinks and stuff. we already know eachothers, but she doesn't know yours patrick - not that what you want matters - but he should know what you like."

your lips press together. she pushes the paper too you.

you feel tunnels vision - dragging the paper into your lap and hovering the pen over the page but unable to write anything down. you feel their eyes on you and feel dissected. you chew your bottom lip. tap the pen to the paper. dont write.

patrick leans back again - this time his arm settles right behind you on the couch cushion, brushing against your lower back.

tashi says your name. firmly.

you look at her a little helplessly, a fawn, "you know what I like - cant you tell him?"

"no."

you're startled to hear it come from patrick. you glance back at him, and he's looking at you like hes got you under a microscope. the shirt hes wearing hugs his chest a little too well. you can see the definition of his chest through it. you drag your gaze to his face, and he rubs at his jaw.

his other hand, you feel the tips of his fingers graze your waist. you squeeze your thighs together and his lips quirk, like hes figuring you out in little morsels and what hes finding he's liking.

"i need to hear it from you."

tashi rolls her eyes.

"he's right you know." she agrees with him anyway, deapite apparently finding his peacocking annoying. "this is for you. for us - but the burden is on your body - im gonna need you to be a big girl about this. I'm taking this seriously - are you?"

"of course!" you say, despondent.

she raises an eyebrow. "are you?"

you sit up straighter. shove your embarrassment down and make sure she can see the conviction in your eyes when you say, "i want a baby. i wanna have a baby with you tashi."

you stare at eachother. her brown eyes search your face, and she's so beautiful. the most beautiful woman you've ever known and you want to have her babies and be her housewife and raise your children and make her proud and -

"thats good." she nods. seems pleased. "now tell him that."

the thing is - this is most definitely mostly for patricks own ego. he'd been hard the moment tashi propositioned him, if he was honest. had spent the past few nights fucking his dick raw to the thought of it. you'd always been like a deer around him. freezing and frolicking away whenever he was around. tashi said it was because he stunk, probably, but patrick had a different theory.

still, he's treading water here. he doesn't know you that well, and your tashi's girl. she'd rip his fucking balls from his body if he made you uncomfortable, he knew. but patrick was pretty good at sussing out when women wanted to fuck him.

he knew you wanted him.

didn't make him want to take it easy on you.

"look at me." he takes a risk, commanding it without looking at tashi, but it pays off when your eyes swing to his like they were pulled there. fuck, if you aren't cute. patricks dick twitches. "tell me what you want from me."

you stare at him. run your hands up and down your dress, flattening it and he glances down at your thighs - has a thought about how they'd look spread around him, pressed up against your stomach - you try to look away again and he pinches your hip with the fingers that'd been lightly skating back and forth over your waist.

"come on." he coaxes you, and he lowers his tone. "look at me and tell me you want me to fuck you on my cock and give you a baby."

"i - i want.'" you look at tashi but patrick doesn't take his eyes off you. he knows tashi wont step in. fucking sadist. her pussy is probably sopping wet at watching him needle you, watching you squirm. she'll be a gushing mess when he makes you cry on his dick and call him daddy - "i want you to.... give me a baby."

fuck.

you say it so softly he thinks about making you say it again, just to be mean. "yeah?" he lets a grin split his face, yeah he's got you pinned. knows exactly the kind of girl you are. "want me to be gentle about it -" he doubts it but hes teasing you here. he already knows how he'll fuck you. decided it the moment you sat on the very edge of the couch - all polite and demure. "- or do you want me to lay you down and make you take the load that's gonna get you pregnant. make your wife watch me get you addicted to cock -"

"i already know that." tashi cuts in. "please - you think I'm not fucking her already with a dick bigger than yours?"

patrick looks at her now - glares. "no balls, though."

tashi trails her eyes down his body - deliberately resting them on his crotch where he's practically bursting through his jeans. he wants to reach down and squeeze himself, relieve some of the throbbing.

"well - that is what you're for, yes."

"and you're not bigger than me."

a perfectly raised eyebrow. "i guess we'll see."

you're still stuck on what patrick said before. about holding you down and making you take it. your clit has a heartbeat and you feel sticky between your legs.

"im gonna - i need to do something really quick -" you stand abruptly - interrupting their banter. you just need to get off. right now.

it doesn't even matter that they both obviously know what you're rushing off to do - that patricks laugh follows you all the way to the bathroom. you need to rub one out now. need something inside you - now -

you dont bother with the lock - just lean against the sink and yank up your dress around your waist with one hand and shove the other into your panties - feeling through the slick mess pooling there, through the folds of your pussy which you part to sink a finger inside yourself - you moan. rock down on it, think helplessly of patrick over you, pushing your legs apart and forcing his cock in - that big body pounding and pounding and pounding so deeply - god - balls slapping wetly against your asshole - full of the cum hes gonna pump so deep inside you - into your fucking womb - you'll just have to take it - you'll just have to -

the bathroom door open and you're half delirious you think you're hallucinating when its patrick. he shoulders his way in - doesn't bother closing the door behind him and you're so close to coming your fingers dont stop moving from their place in your drenched cunt - and you open your mouth to tell him to leave or to scream or to just moan as you cum - but he's moving in before you have a chance to do any of that, yanking you around with a hand on your hip and bending you over the sink -

you twitch in shock and your brain is so fucking frazzled you dont think to do anything about the situation other than moan and clench around your fingers as you cum - your eyes rolling back - you catch the briefest glance of tashi leaning against the doorframe - safe, you aren't being bad, thank god - before patrick is yanking your soiled fingers from your still coming cunt and replaces them with his own-

"oh god - '" you wail at the same time patrick grunts. "fuck - she's tight -"

you're already rolling into another orgasm. thighs shaking as patrick crowds behind you - leans over your body until his chest is at your back. fucks his sloppy fingers so deep inside you his wrist hits your clit - grinds his palm there -

"you have such a hot little body." patrick groans in your ear, hot and low and fuck - "can't wait to stretch it out -" you can feel him hard and fucking big, pressing into your ass. that wont fit - jesus - that will destroy you - ah - you're coming again - or you didn't stop coming, you're shaking and you feel tashi's hand in your hair, yanking your head up so you can see how wrecked you are in the mirror - a fucked out whore - debauched -

"i cant - " you gasp, standing on your tip toes like you mean to squirm away from the feeling but hands - tashi's hands patricks hands, yank you back into place and patricks grinding the heel of his palm into your fat sore clit and you feel tears leak from your eyes.

"you gotta take it, baby." patrick presses a sweet kiss to the side of your head - in contrast to the way hes absolutely pummeling your cunt with his fingers - wet and gushy and making a fucking mess - "how're you gonna take this fat fucking dick if you're already choking my fingers -"

"i will -" you sob. "I'll take it - i promise - hhh -"

"is that a promise?" he asks. pinches your clit. doesn't let you finish coming.

"y-yesss."

"gonna hold you to it."

your eyes roll back when he makes you cum again. you dont know how you'll survive coming on his cock.

[howdyboh]

[wolfchans]

BANG CHAN X NYLON JAPAN | EDITED

[castielsparkle]

guys omg just made it to the part where sams coming out 🥺🥺so proud rn....

[accidentally-in-fictional-love]

Susceptible - Jack Delroy/Reader

Warnings: Fully clothed grinding, very slight dirty talk, very light exhibitionism in a sense, no use of Y/N, female-hinted reader because of skirt/makeup mentions but other than that there's no real gender mention.

Wordcount: 4950

Summary: You spent a small fortune getting a ticket to Carmichael Haig's show on the promise of his new act showing his audience something the world has never seen before, as well as the possible attendance of one Jack Delroy, but will two hours of bullshit be worth the risk?

Notes: There is SO MUCH BUILDUP I'm so sorry I'm so weak for worldbuilding and plot I swear the other one I have planned will be shorter OTL I have never written a reader before but I am a huge fan of them, especially the DDverse ones I've been binging oop, so I hope this is a good first attempt! It's been a few years since I've written anything like this and probably a good decade or so since I last posted anything, so here's hoping I post more in the upcoming future~ This is also completely unbetaed so if you see any mistakes please let me know <3 The Manhattan Center is also real but didn't fit my needs entirely so I mashed it together with the theatre I went to as a kid lol

~~~~~~~~~~

Carmichael Haig was back in town and you had no idea why you were here. 

He had left for what felt like both forever and not nearly long enough for a few months to do his tour, seeing his smug face everywhere you looked between both digital and paper news and making your distaste grow a little more each time. You had been fond of his trickery for a time, but his move from magic man to skeptic had sucked all the fun out of the act, his determination to not only find the real but humiliate the fakes way past annoying to straight up sickening to you by this point. Tonight’s show proved to be another big presentation of the latter you’d decided when it’d been announced officially, promoted by your favourite talk show host - and current celebrity crush - Jack Delroy; his smile was wide for the cameras but it didn’t reach his eyes, you could always tell between them by now and he did not seem to be as pleased as the two talked about it that night.

‘I’m going to show the world something they’ve never seen before,’ Carmichael had said, his usual smug look in place as he hammed it up for the cameras like he could really pull that off, Jack running with it like the patron saint of patience he had to be.

‘Big talk, you sure I can’t convince you to give our wonderful audience a taste tonight?’ he asked, the crowd cheering at the mere thought of getting to experience his new act an entire month early, but if there was even an iota of temptation within him to share he hid it perfectly. He waved the offer away to everyone’s disappointment, Jack pouting on everyone’s behalf and putting those big eyes on display as his own plea; the ratings, you imagined, would be wonderful for a segment like this when his show was already starting to slip down the line, but even that was no use.

‘You’ll all get a chance to see it on the 13th,’ he promised them as he turned to face the audience, the place and date scrolling across the bottom of the screen yet again, they’d been flashing it every single time it was mentioned to the point where you were sure you’d see it in your sleep tonight, rolling across the bottom half of your dream. ‘Or, those of you who’ve been able to get your tickets will, we’re selling out fast,’ he smirked with a tip of his glass, yet another thing that’d been brought up and hammered home; you’d gone to the Manhattan Center to check a couple days ago, just out of curiosity, the ticket price absolutely ridiculous to the point that you were convinced they’d never sell out, but now you guessed your distaste of him wasn’t as widespread as you’d secretly hoped.

Jack slapped his leg in mock disappointment, Carmichael looking back to him at the sound. ‘Guess you’ll have to tell me all about it the next time you’re back in town, I had asked Gus to pick one up for me but it seems he missed that call,’ he joked, Gus’ surprise at the blame of his absence being placed on him getting a big laugh as his face fell and he tried to explain himself. 

Carmichael placed an understanding hand on Jack’s shoulder and leaned in closer, the other man leaning in in return as if to receive some kind of secret. ‘Well then, it’s a good thing my date canceled on me,’ he retorted, and when he pulled his hand back he revealed a ticket, Jack’s eyes going wide as he accepted the gift with a big smile, pointing to it before shaking Carmichael’s hand with a thanks.

Ah, so that was why you were here again.

You knew you’d never be able to get a seat on Night Owls because the thought of Jack seeing you in the crowd made you blush all the way to your shoulders, even on your bravest of nights you hadn’t been able to even call and see if there were any tickets left, but to maybe share an audience with him? To sit in the same room as him where you could steal glances if you were able to find him, with no risk whatsoever of him catching the way your eyes lit up when you looked at that handsome face, that dangerously attractive body? That was doable. 

It had cost an arm and a leg to convince that scalper to hand over one of the tickets he was parading around outside the Center, but it was worth it as you stepped inside, your heart racing because, unless he wanted to risk the aftermath of Carmichael calling him out for not going, he was here; somewhere in this building was the man you’d been dreaming about since his debut a few years ago, the one you watched nearly every night without fail just for that hour where he looked at you, talked to you, noticed you even if it was through a camera, and that was all you’d needed until tonight.

You’d gotten a pretty shitty seat despite the price but you didn’t mind, it actually worked out for you considering you weren’t actually there to see the show but to look for someone in the seats in front of you, and you hoped that you’d be able to spot him from where you were in the far back corner. As long as he wasn’t, say, the exact opposite of you then you probably stood a chance of at least a glance, since his ticket came from Carmichael himself you guessed that it was probably close to the front if not front row center just to mess with him and prove that he’d come, and you felt all the hair rise on your arms and neck when Carmichael walked on stage early to very loudly greet someone who’d just walked in.

There he was, leaving his seat to meet the other man in the middle, and he was so much further than you expected but it was still him, big smile in place, hair perfectly combed, his crisp suit being wrinkled by Carmichael’s hands as he gave him a showy hug, and he was beautiful. You froze in the middle of the row, unable to finish the walk as your eyes stayed on him, the people trying to get by you not as starstruck as they attempted to squeeze past when you ignored their presence.

‘Sorry,’ you murmured as you sat as fast as you could, eyes still trained on him as he waved to the crowd to prove that yes, he did honour the gift and was there to see this big new act he’d been promised. You let out an embarrassingly needy whine when he sat back down and you became unable to see him again, the mass of bodies behind him obscuring all but a sliver of the back of his head from this angle, and you’d be damned if you had to spend the next 2 hours stuck like this at a Carmichael Haig show of all things. The person at the end of the row finally arrived and you made your move, hurrying down and taking one last glance before getting ready to make this whole thing a little more bearable. ‘Excuse me,’ you nearly stuttered as the person, a man older than yourself who definitely gave off the air of being a Carmichael fan, looked up at you, ‘would you want to trade seats with me? I was really looking forward to the show but I was too late to grab an aisle seat.’

It’s a blatant lie but the quick glance from before proved that you could see him better from there, and the chance of getting to look at him for the next two hours was worth the look the man gave you at the request.

‘Which one are you?’ he asked, looking down to the few empty spaces still waiting for their owners, and you pulled out your ticket to double check, seeing that it was R51; wow, you didn’t realize how far away R was from A until you saw it firsthand. He looked back down to your seat and considered it, looking you over midthought when he thought you weren’t looking, and he almost got away with it if not for the fact that you felt his eyes on you. ‘$100,’ he decided, the offer knocking the wind right out of you.

‘What? The seat was already $350,’ you choke, giving away the fact that you were really, really late to the party.

‘Take it or leave it, I had the sense to order on time,’ is all he says to that, and you looked back at your possible view before sighing heavily and reaching for your wallet; goddamnit, Jack, if only he knew how worth it he was. You hand over the money and step aside, the man pocketing his fee and leaving the seat for you as promised, and the view is just barely better but there he is again, perfectly in view due to what can only be a miracle, the hole in your wallet feeling a little less big as you watched him turn his head to talk to someone, giving you a perfect side view.

He really was handsome, captivating even from this distance, and you swoon a little as the audience finished filling out, the lights dimming and obscuring your view a little more save the grace of the stage lights that illuminate him from the front as Carmichael walked back out on stage and started the show. You’d never been one for spacing out but you couldn’t take your eyes off him, the $450 price tag of this shitty aisle seat all for him and not feeling so bad even as Carmichael charms everyone around you. He didn’t look to the side that often, you guessed he didn’t actually know his neighbour since the seat was a gift, but the times that he did, where he laughed or sighed at the theatrics or even put his face in his hand because he wasn’t having too much fun, were all cataloged away in your head forever, the perfect souvenirs to last you a lifetime of home viewing after this. 

At about an hour in according to your old watch, Jack looked about ready to get up and find any reason to leave, which you couldn’t blame him for, the acts themselves were pretty damn good you realized in the times you actually paid attention, but it was getting so tiring to see Carmichael explain away all of their tricks, to see the joy leave their faces at being called a fraud or having all their mysteries revealed, and it was clear Jack felt the same down in row A. After a particularly rough walk-off from a woman who was trying very desperately to convince Carmichael that she could really read his mind and ending up with the humiliating reality that everything he answered to was false to get her to out herself, you noticed that when you looked back to his seat that Jack isn’t there, and you were in the middle of wondering where he went when the person coming up the aisle came into view so suddenly that it took your breath away.

It was Jack, his brow twitching slightly to keep a neutral face, his footsteps heavy as he tried not to stomp and draw attention to the fact that that last one really pissed him off, his hands already reaching into his suit pocket for something. You tried not to stare the closer he got but it was hard, years of being able to look all you want training your brain to look look look as he approached, and you forced yourself to stare straight ahead at the stage as he reached you. Your hands were clenched tight in your lap as he went to pass row R, and you were in the middle of thinking you were going to make it when he fumbled the small box in his pocket and dropped it with a low curse, the cigarettes he apparently smoked bouncing to the side and coming to a stop between your recently shined shoes.

Your head snapped down so fast you felt it in your neck as he came to a stop beside you, the two of you locating the box at the same time, and you stiffened as he reached for it before realizing how rude that would be despite his own sour mood. ‘I’m sorry, could I bother you for a second,’ he asked, his smile back in place despite being a bit tense, and you stuttered out a confirmation as you leaned down to pick them up.

‘I didn’t know you smoked,’ you blurted out before you could stop yourself, Jack’s hand frozen in midair as he reached for the box, his smile relaxing a little as he looked from your hand to your face.

‘Did I find myself a Night Owl in this sea of skeptics?’ he wondered aloud, your cheeks brightening in a way that really made you pray it was dark enough not to notice. 

‘I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,’ you lie, and he crouched down so he could hear your whispers as the crowd reacted to the next act.

‘I take it you’re also not very impressed,’ he figured, hitting the nail on the head based on your expression alone. He chuckled at your silent confirmation and looked back down to the cigarettes, his fingertips just barely touching yours as you both held it, you didn’t even know when he’d grabbed it and you let go before it got awkward, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘Well, if you don’t tell my producer that I’m smoking again, then I won’t tell Haig that you didn’t like his show, deal?’

You sucked in a breath as he moved the box to his left hand, offering up his right for a handshake this time to seal the deal, your heart pounding as you shook on it, his smile more genuine than you’d seen all night, you could always tell. He stood back up as the act finished and Carmichael went back to his disproving, his mood dropping again as his need to escape rearose. You both offered a look of disdain at the stage before he stood back up to move again, something stopping him midstep before he turned on his heel and leaned back down to you, a shiver running down your spine at how close he was so he could be heard.

‘Have you ever been to one of my shows?’ he asked, genuine curiosity in his voice, his warm breath accidentally hitting your neck and rendering you unable to do anything but glance at him and shake your head no. ‘You’d have a much better time, I’ve got some great stuff coming up,’ he pitched, either completely unaware of your predicament or just used to people acting like this around him, either way he didn’t react when your eyes couldn’t help but flicker down to watch him lick his lips so fast you almost missed it. ‘The next one’s already booked up but if you go down to the studio and give them this card, you should be able to get a spot for a night you’re free, I'd like to see you there.’

He pulled out his wallet and grabbed a business card, flipping it around to the blank side on the back before resting it on the arm of the chair. A pen was found next, and he scribbled a quick note to the ticket seller on it on your behalf, signing it and handing it over with that big showman smile of his. You took it and placed it in your own wallet, the previous hole instantly filled with its presence, his mood clearly raised by the interaction as he wished you a quick goodbye and resumed his journey outside, oblivious to the fact that you were about to disrupt the entire theater if you didn’t find a place to scream and fast. 

You gave him a few minutes to reach the doors before jumping to your feet and making for the bathroom, your heels clickclacking on the tile the entire way until you found the correct door. The place was empty, which was great because once you caught sight of yourself you knew that it was bad enough he saw you this way, no one else should get the pleasure; your face was redder than you’d ever seen it, your pupils blown from the exchange and you could’ve sworn you could actually see yourself shaking you were buzzing so hard, your grin so wide anyone else would’ve assumed that Santa had just given you the toy you’d always wanted for Christmas early. 

You tried to calm yourself as you ripped off some paper towels and dampened them, patting them against your cheeks and neck to bring your body temperature back down to a normal person’s, carefully avoiding your makeup that you were thankful you spent the time putting on just on the ultra rare off chance you’d run into him. When you were ready to go back - and after a quick internal debate on whether you should try and meet him outside for another, less hushed conversation already - you made sure to calm your breathing before heading back out there, taking a quick moment to look for him before making the trek back to your seat. 

When you got back you noticed that no new act was on, Carmichael already talking to the audience and projecting himself up on the screens for all to see, you rolling your eyes as you collapsed into the rich red velvet and preparing for more of his bullshit until Jack returned, if he felt like it that was. Everyone around you was concentrating on his words, staring right ahead as the theater fell silent save for his voice and the sound of a ticking clock; ah, he was trying to hypnotize everyone, that must’ve been his big final act that he’d promised his audience. You weren’t impressed, you’d tried to be hypnotized before at a party in your youth, it hadn’t worked then so it wasn’t going to work now you knew, so you sat back and prepared to at least enjoy whatever he was going to make the audience do.

Your thoughts went back to Jack as Carmichael’s voice slowly got drowned out, the ticking a bit louder in your ears despite the distance, but you didn’t mind because it was nonsense anyway, ‘Now who’s the skeptic,’ you think to yourself as you sink deeper into your chair. You vaguely heard the words, ‘Your greatest desire,’ in your ear before you felt a hand on your shoulder, your eyes leaving the stage to travel up until you saw Jack standing just behind you in the aisle, his smile from before now more like a smirk as he motioned towards the doors like he wanted you to follow him. 

You looked back at the stage as Carmichael invited someone from the audience up to stand with him, some poor hypnotized fool who was bound to be humiliated along with everyone else who stood with him tonight, and you decided that you’d rather not see that again before standing and following Jack. There was a small hallway between the theater and the doors on that side of the back wall, the two of you out of view from everyone else but Carmichael’s voice still reaching, and you were about to wonder if he was leading you outside to just leave or talk when he turned and pushed you against the wall with a muffled thud. Your back met cold paint as your chest met with his, your eyes locking as he cornered you where no one could see, a confidence he saved for the cameras now focused solely on you as he looked you over the same way you’d done to him a thousand times over. 

‘I couldn’t wait for you to come to my show,’ he whispered, his voice impossibly low as he held you in place, a knee parting yours and making you gasp, ‘you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

‘You’re just telling me what I wanna hear,’ you managed to get out, his eyes closing as he leaned in to grin against your cheek.

‘Is it working?’

You didn’t dare answer but you might as well have because your silence was enough to spur him into action, your head falling back against the wall as he started to kiss your neck, your hands grasping at anything because this was crazy. The man you’d wanted for years was kissing you not even 30ft away from a room full of people, anyone could come around the corner at any second and catch you, and you bit your lip at the thrill of it all. You’d had dreams like this before, ones that left you panting into your pillow when you awoke, but the real thing was so much better as he sucked a mark into your soft skin, your hand leaving his arm to cover your mouth lest you alert anyone within hearing distance to your current predicament.

You let him do as he pleased, let him ran his hands over your sides and down to the edge of where your lifted skirt was resting against his thigh, your legs shaking as your body tried not to grind against him; it was only due to him holding you that kept you standing as a matter of fact and he seemed fully aware of it as his nails scratched softly against your bare leg. He seemed to love all your reactions to what he did, he was in the entertainment business after all, every noise of approval that slipped through your fingers must’ve been like music to his ears but you had to hold back no matter how much you wanted to indulge him. Being denied what he wanted only made him work harder for it, the assault on your neck moving to your shoulder and collarbone instead of your covered lips, your mouth watering for just a taste as he started to move against you, one hand pulling your waist away from the wall by your lower back as the other moved up and under your skirt.

The first grind of his body against yours was decadent, you swore you could feel it in your soul the way he wanted you just as much as you’d wanted him, like he’d been watching you back through the screen for years and also craved this very moment, and now that he was getting it he wasn’t going to stop, you didn’t want him to stop. You’d never seen him act anything like this before in all his years on TV, a greedy flash of excitement running through you at getting to see such a new side of him quickly overcome by pleasure as he cupped your ass and pulled you even closer. You knew you couldn’t get undressed here, if you’d made it to the bathroom then maybe he’d be doing more but he hadn’t lasted even that long, but even with that desire being restrained you still wanted him here and now. Never in your life had you been this desperate for release but he was bringing out a demon inside of you that desired and needed and wanted so much that you were willing to throw your modesty out the fucking window for just a second of his hot skin pressed against your own, but this would have to do while the show still went on.

‘Jack…’ you moaned as your hand, moist from your panting, gripped his arm once again, Carmichael’s voice getting louder in the distance as you grew closer to your release.

‘Come home with me,’ he begged into your ear, his movements getting rougher as he also grew close, you knew you’d both have to leave before everyone saw you but it was worth it, god it was so worth it. ‘I want to have you all to myself, I need to taste you-’

You bit your lip and led his face away from your neck so you could look into his eyes, his mouth parted as he tried to control his own panting, he was coming apart at the seams for you right here in the hallway, the ticking in your ears either your heartbeat or a clock far away. You moaned his name again as you felt the heat build in your stomach, your back arching and pushing your body into him even more as the door to your right opened.

‘Dreamer, here, awake!’

All at once your knees gave out and you collapsed to the floor before that final wave could push you over the edge, your head heavy and your vision swimming as the body against yours vanished into nothing. ‘Are you okay? What happened?’ Jack’s voice from above asked as his worried expression came into view, the smell of rain and cigarette smoke invading your senses; the sound of the audience in a similar state of confusion drifted around the corner as Jack crouched down next to you, just back inside from his break from the show, the realization that you weren’t as immune to hypnosis as you’d thought hitting you like a bucket of cold water. You just panted in shock, surprise, and waning lust as Jack looked you over in concern, your hands moving to pull the bottom of your skirt down to cover your exposed legs in embarrassment, the scratches you were so certain he’d left behind not there, because he hadn’t been there.

‘I’m fine,’ you force yourself to say after you’d caught your breath, Jack believing you but still helping you to your feet like a gentleman, of course he would never act that way, that was only how you’d wanted him to act, you’d had dreams like that for god’s sake, the real Jack would never-

‘Is the show over?’ he asked as the roar of people applauding overtook the chatter, Carmichael now silent, and you avoided his eye as you started to edge towards the way out.

‘I think so.’

‘What was the big mind-blowing act?’

You put a little distance between yourself and him but he didn’t notice, Jack heading for the corner so he could look at the stage as he waited for your reply. ‘He hypnotized everyone,’ you answered curtly, his reaction big and full of surprise as he looked over the size of the crowd in an awe that wasn’t present for the first hour and a half.

‘Everyone? You should’ve come found me, I would’ve loved to see that.’ He was still looking at the room beyond, your eyes on him as he watched everyone else.

‘I got a little overwhelmed,’ you mumble, and he finally looked at you with that same concerned expression again, and it’s too much after what you’d just thought you’d seen, your eyes finding the floor.

‘What did he make you see?’ he asked, his curiosity quiet but still there under the concern, but you couldn’t answer him. ‘Do you need a ride home, or are you okay to drive?’

He’s too kind, he would never act that way, he would never say that to you.

‘I took a cab, I’ll be fine,’ you tried to say, but still you quickly found yourself being led to the front door as the audience swarmed around you, his hand on your back to make sure you stayed standing, a true gentleman. It had started raining while you were inside which explained the scent pairing with the smoke that covered up his cologne, and you just stood under the marquee as he hailed a cab for you as the sea of skeptics washed around you like rushing water. You hopped inside but he didn’t shut the door right away, leaning down in the rain once you were seated, and for a moment you wondered if he was going to get in when he spoke.

‘I do hope you come to my show, preferably Friday’s, it’s gunna be a good one, I promise,’ he said with that big genuine smile again, your heart pounding as your cheeks glowed red for a reason other than embarrassment as you gave him a small nod.

‘I’ll be there,’ you promised back, and he tapped the roof of the cab before shutting the door and letting you go. You looked out the back window as you drove away, the both of you waving as he ducked back inside and out of the rain, and as soon as you turned back around to face forward you found yourself reaching for your wallet. His card was in your hands as you looked it over, all in all it was an uninspiring, plain business card, and you flipped it over to read what he wrote for the ticketmaster on the back.

Wait for me by the back entrance at 11:00 Phil will let you in JD

Your cheeks turned red again as you put the card away, the cab driver giving you a look in the rearview mirror as you held your nearly empty wallet, now with one business card, to your thumping chest. Oh yeah, it definitely was all worth it after all.

[ghosttotheparty]

also on ao3

(cw: tics, bullying)

Eddie started shivering in seventh grade.

Even when it was hot, even when he was sweating and desperately wanted a non-rattly fan or a better air conditioner. They weren't normal shivers. He wasn't cold. But his shoulders would jerk or shake, or he would tremble for a second, and he didn't know what else it could have been. Others didn't question it for a while, because it started in October. Everyone was shivering. But by March, it hadn't stopped, and he had to explain himself when people gave him questioning looks or asked if he was okay. (Back when people cared.)

'S just a shiver, I'm fine.

He wasn't fine. It got worse over time. He got used to it, to the weird feeling that took over his body for a few seconds, got used to telling people he was cold, joking that he must be low on vitamins or iron, joking that in the future, someone is walking over his grave. But other people didn't get used to it. They thought he was weird. That was fine with him. Wayne realised something was wrong before Eddie started the tenth grade, because he wasn't just shivering anymore. His whole body was jerking sharply, suddenly, his shoulders drawing up, fists clenching. Eddie didn't question it. Wayne did.

It wasn't normal. But nothing about Eddie was normal. Wayne took him to see a doctor. The doctor make him do things, walk in a line, hold his arms out and push the doctor's hands away as hard as he could, follow a flashlight with his eyes without moving his head. It was all weird. It kind of scared Eddie. The doctor kept writing things in a notebook, and Eddie couldn't tell if he was doing well or not. But Wayne was there, watching and listening intently.

The doctor said he had tics. It sounded funny to Eddie, but then it wasn't funny, because the doctor didn't give him anything for it. He just said there wasn't anything really wrong with him. His brain just worked a little differently. (Which Eddie was already used to hearing.) That his tics could get better or go away as he got older, or they could get worse.

They got worse.

By the end of that summer, his arms were moving, flying over his head suddenly, randomly, and his head was jerking back so sharply it hurt. Wayne was worried about him getting whiplash. Eddie was worried about going to school.

That year, he became the freak.

At first, he tried to explain it to people. The movements were involuntary, he couldn't control them. Wayne contacted all his teachers, who mostly got it, but still preferred to make him sit in the hallway so he didn't distract the class. But the other students thought he was possessed, faking it for attention, and everything in between. They'd throw things at him, and complain to the teachers that he was distracting even when he wasn't moving, just to get him out of the room. They would mimic him, make fun of him, and by September, he learned that the tics get worse when he's upset. He could hear them all snickering and giggling as he shoved his hands under his legs and tucked his chin to his chest or held his shirt over his face, as he held his limbs tense so they wouldn't move, so tense he was exhausted and sore all the time, and then he'd go home and cry because he couldn't control his own body.

He'd have to sit on the sofa so when his head threw itself back, it would hit the back of the sofa instead of the wall, and Wayne would just wait, watching with that fucking sadness in his eyes that made Eddie ache even more. When it finally stopped, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes after an hour or two, he was so exhausted he'd fall asleep right there on the sofa. He couldn't do his homework. His grades dropped even more, but he managed to keep himself afloat. He did the best he could, doing his homework early in the morning before school or in detention. (Some of his teachers thought he was faking. Mr Peterson was in charge of detention, and he was nice. Considerate. Eddie counted him as one of his few blessings.)

His tics got worse.

In December of his junior year, he started making noises. Short screams, grunts, quiet vocalizations. It scared him. He didn't want to go back to school, but he did. The laughter around him got louder, and he was sent out to the hallways more. He started skipping classes. He knew he'd be forced to leave anyway. So he'd sit in the boys' room, on top of a lidded toiler, his feet up on the stall door, and he'd leave cigarette burns on the walls.

Not everyone was awful. Some kids were just curious about him, asked why he acted the way he did, and he did his best to calmly explain it all. I can't help it, actually. It's just my brain works different. That turned into Eddie's brain's fucked. It's broken. He's a fucking--

So he used it. Eddie the Freak. Attention-seeking, desperate for people to notice him. So he started making devil horns, yelling from tabletops, making himself The Freak so no one could use it against him.

No one, not even Wayne, saw him cry at night, because the attention he got was never the attention he wanted. Because he was tired. So fucking tired. His limbs were sore and his voice was rough, and his neck hurt, and he was sick of being laughed at. But that was all he got.

He kept counting his blessings. Mr Peterson, who never minded Eddie's noises or the way his fists would bang against the table loudly in the silent room, who scolded the other detention-goers when they tried to tease. The Hellfire guys, who got used to his tics fairly quickly, and knew when to pause whatever they were doing if Eddie couldn't hear them over a scream or was distracted by his own body. That nice girl, Chrissy Cunningham, who would slip notes from the classes he missed or skipped into his locker or backpack with sweet smiles. (If Eddie wasn't gay, he would have fallen in love with her.) The other few students that ignored him when his tics acted up, just glancing and moving on. Wayne, bless his soul, who would come to the school to confront Eddie's teachers and complain to the principal about Eddie being mistreated by the staff.

And, oddly enough, Steve Harrington.

Eddie never saw it coming. It was a particularly bad day. He was at his locker, trying to line his books up, but a tic threw his hands up, and some books fell from his locker to the floor. He watched helplessly as papers scattered across the floor, as most students stepped around them, ignoring them, as some jocks trampled over them, over Chrissy's neat handwriting, his fists clenched at his sides. When they passed, he kneeled, picking up the books, and when he looked up, Steve Harrington was kneeling too, gathering the crumpled papers and carefully straightening them out.

He gave them to Eddie with a smile, and Eddie thought he might be dying, in some weird, upside-down dimension where Steve Harrington smiles at Eddie Munson. Eddie took them hesitantly, said thank you, and then he hit him.

He was mortified, almost dropping the papers again, jumping back as his whole body flushed with heat, staring at Steve's shoulder where his hand had just landed heavily, and he burst with a Fuck, I'm so sorry, oh my god--

But Steve had just laughed. Amazingly, it was a kind laugh, with sparkling eyes, and soft cheeks, and he said It's okay.

And then he was gone. Down the hall, after his friends, and Eddie realised his hands were trembling.

Steve kept smiling at him. Even when his friends were making fun of Eddie's Satanic cult, and of the way he couldn't keep still, and of his sad, broken brain. Even when Eddie's brain made him flip Steve off across the cafeteria, Steve saw how Eddie pulled his hand down sharply, and Steve just... laughed. Eddie fell in love with his laugh. It was kind, and it made Eddie feel better, even when he wanted to cry.

Steve graduated the next year. But he didn't leave Eddie alone. Eddie couldn't stop thinking about him, and his kind laugh, and his pretty eyes, and then the sheep Eddie adopted told him all about how cool and brave Steve was, and Eddie fell harder without even seeing him.

The world went to shit. But Eddie got to see Steve again.

Steve was still kind, even though the world was ending, and even during serious discussions, plan-making, how-to-save-the-world conversations, Eddie's tics kept going. His body jerked and shivered, and his head threw back, and his fists hit his own chest and shoulders, and he had to sit down. And Eddie found out that there are more kind people than he thought. When his tics slowed, Nancy wordlessly got him an ice pack to hold to his chest, and when he flung it across the room, Robin caught it with a casual oops, and brought it back to him. No one questioned him, or stared, or laughed, even though he knew how annoying he was.

When he woke up in the hospital, he hurt so badly he couldn't move. He just cried. Steve sat by his bed and held onto his hand. He was crying too. When Eddie stopped crying, Steve carefully slid his rings, clean of blood, onto his fingers.

This one goes here, right?

Yeah.

On the second day, his brain didn't care that he hurt. As Steve was telling him about what was going on with the others (Max was staying with the Sinclairs, Dustin's leg was almost healed), Eddie's hand smacked him across the face sharply, the sting of his rings bringing tears to his eyes before he even processed what happened. Steve wordlessly crawled onto the bed, carefully pulled Eddie against himself, and set a pillow over Eddie's lap for when his fists started hitting his legs. He'd just murmured those words, the first words he'd said to Eddie years ago.

It's okay. It's okay.

And he waited until Eddie's body fell lax against him before he carefully found Eddie's hand, laced their fingers, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Eddie was released from the hospital a few weeks later. He stayed in the Wheelers' basement for a few days until Steve's parents left town, for good this time, and then he moved into the Harrington house.

He likes it there. Steve is still kind. Always. He lets Eddie lay his head in his lap when his body hurts or won't stop moving, and he drags his fingers through his hair or holds a joint to his lips for him, and he smiles. (Eddie would go through the end of the world all over again for that smile.) When Eddie's head hits the wall while they're in the waiting room of the hospital for a checkup, Steve just shifts to face him and holds a hand up to the back of his head so his hand hits the wall instead, saying quietly that Eddie isn't allowed to beat his record number of concussions. He drives Eddie to Wayne's even though Eddie doesn't tic when he drives except for a few facial or vocal ones.

When Eddie whistles one night, Steve just smiles at him and says Was that a tic or are you hitting on me? and Eddie freezes, his face burning. Which would you prefer, pretty boy?

Steve kisses him.

And then Steve starts holding his hand even when he isn't having tics, even when they're with the Party. Eddie moves into Steve's room. (They always slept better when they accidentally fell asleep on the sofa together anyway.) Steve holds him when his tics are bad, and Eddie holds him during his migraines, pressing kisses as softly as he can to his forehead and his temples. Steve takes his hand when it moves to hit Eddie's face or chest. Eddie stands steady and holds Steve's hand to himself when he gets dizzy. Steve keeps ready-made ice packs in the freezer to hold to Eddie's chest and legs when they bruise from his fists. Eddie keeps his handwriting as neat as possible when he writes notes in case Steve forgets anything. When they wake up at night, breathless and sweaty and crying, the other is there, arms open, lips waiting.

One night Eddie says very softly, You know, they used to say my brain was broken.

Steve just says, Mine too.

[robbed-ghost]

First, they discontinue super sons issues, bringing it back for a Halloween special edition and then ghost.

Then, they have Jon age up and date immediately in time for pride, no warning.

Then, he’s Superman.

Then, we get a super sons movie where he’s 10 again (?)

Then, they have Jon and Dick team up as a protege-mentee situation—not bad! Just…not quite the character we’ve just established. Not quite Jon

Then, they have Jon and Damian babysitting wonder woman’s daughter for *checks books* 7 years????? Making Damian and Jon 21 and 24 respectively??? Ok…?

Then, they do Beastworld, and Nightwing comics, AND Superman comics AND Wonder Woman issues with Jon in ALL OF THEM at the SAME TIME and looking vastly different in all of them, with vastly different characterizations, none of them solid, consistent, or acknowledging the fact that he’s been trapped inside a volcano and travelling the multiverse and having a boyfriend all in the same breath.

What am I supposed to be believing right now, DC.

[foolsocracy]

I can't get the idea out of my head, so please consider; MJ invites Peter out along with some of her friends for dancing. Results may vary

ok this has been SITTING in my inbox. I was thinking about drawing something but ive caved and im just gonna talk.

YES. That girl can DANCE and she loves it!! I feel in the 19th and 20th century everyone could do a bit of social dancing because thats just what people did for fun. I think the Parkers and the Watsons both taught their kids to dance 'older' stuff they would have done when they were younger, like a solid waltz, quadrille, two-step, polka, what have you. MJ learned them all with fervor. Pete... learned some of them.

I think MJ and Pete would probably do (east coast) swing most often. Because they are hip and of the times. I think Pete probably would have had MJ and Robbie get to know each other through dance, actually. Like Robbie was around the welfare center when MJ was and Pete immediately was like Yes, now MJ can practice with him and not me (ultimate backfire because how he's got 2 partners)! Harlem is definitely the hot spot for swing, with black Americans engineering the whole thing. MJ was totally ecstatic to have a friend over there to run into who was a ready and willing partner!

I do have to say that MJ is a total back lead when it comes to Peter. They will ARGUE on the floor (in good fun). She'll be like 'do that one move I just taught you!' or 'If you fumble this texas tommy i'll kill you' or 'ok on this next backstep we're doing Charleston... aaand triple step, back step.' And Peter will snark back. Whenever she really wants to piss him off she'll make him practice Balboa (he thinks it looks stupid).

[tojisun]

just a thirst but valeria with her mouth on yr tit while she works you over with her fingers until your knees shake

busted a fat nut omg :((

she laps at your tits, sucking so desperately on your nipple, and only pulls away to rasp out, “can’t wait to see ‘em leak when i make a mami outta you, cariño.”

god im found dead xp

no because it’s such a mutual turn-on for you both when you two dabble in this — dirty-talking about valeria breeding you, about fucking you so good and filling you up so thoroughly that it takes; and you begging for it, calling her papi mid-orgasm because you swear you’ve never been fucked this good before.

and god valeria wiping her pruned fingers, drenched in your rich slick, on your tits before sucking on them again. and she moans sooo fucking loud, grunting how you taste so delicious and addictive, and rumbles, “only for me, sí? your pussy’s all mine?”

and you moan out your yes’s because your pussy really is all hers and hers alone

im losing my mind holy shit i want her so bad

[averlym]

some very very quick costume shorthands!

[skitskatdacat63]

More matador!Fernando! Ferrari this time :D (I can't help myself.....)

- facial hair

+ closeups

I really wanted the vibe of this Nando pic, I think I did pretty well??

[unexpectedbrickattack]

Hi. New ✨Pinned Post✨

• MINORS. DO NOT MESSAGE ME. NO DMS. NO INBOX MESSAGES. NO. I am not checking my activity and Every note to see if minors are interacting w my stuff but i WILL check if u directly try to contact me. I WILL block you. Please dont do that to me 😭 Likes/Reblogs are fine, just dont talk to me Directly please.

• This blog will have ns//fw stuff! Suggestive and Explicit! Please block [spicy hot], [suggestive] and [saucy] to avoid seeing these posts! Make sure to remove the brackets! (Gonna be changing [spicy hot] to [saucy] very soon so I am adding that in there as well)

• No, I do not want you to dub any of my art. Oh my god. Oh my god ! I cannot stop you but I do not want anything ive done dubbed and placed anywhere on the internet. Do not show me if u do this. Do not show me if u saw it on youtube or tiktok or whatever! I am existing with Blinders on and i would prefer to keep it that way!

• I dont rp! Please do not send me rp asks and dms ! I will NOT respond to them!

• Not important but if u see Dissociativekitten in ur activity, thats me :)

OKAY thats it for real bye

[eyeofthechasm]

URGH. I FINISHED THIS. I wanted to whittle away and die while doing this but. Its done. Somewhat shittily but it’s. DONE. Renzo dailogue meme. Augh.

Spoilers, closeups and IDs under read more

Slider responses bc I don’t wanna clog up the ID

(Marker is a small, white drama mask with upturned eyes and a large smile)

Slider 1: Has never cursed - Swears constantly

Answer 1: Marker is basically on top of Swears constantly

Slider 2: Stiff and formal - Full of slang

Answer 2: Marker is all the way to Full of Slang

Slider 3: Simple vocabulary - Purple Prose

Answer 3: Marker is near the middle, though leans more towards Purple prose

Slider 4: Monotonous - Practically singing

Answer 4: Marker is 3/4 down the slider, closer to Practically singing

Slider 5: Talks around feelings - Emotions on sleeve

Answer 5: Marker is almost on top of Talks around feelings

Slider 6: Minimal body language - Gestures excitedly

Answer 6: Marker is closest to Gestures excitedly

Slider 7: More of a listener - Dominates the convo

Answer 7: Marker is closest to Dominates the convo